


Survival Course

by kerravon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt John Sheppard, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First season, following "The Defiant One" - After that kind of beating, there is no way Sheppard wasn't seriously injured, no matter how well he hid it.  But there was still the matter of teaching the nonmilitary members of Atlantis how to survive in a hostile galaxy, to prevent a repeat of Gaul.  Maybe a survival course exercise? Yeah, that might work.  Of course, John had to survive it as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival Course

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, no infringement meant. Fanfiction for entertainment only; no profit made.

** Survival Course **

By KerrAvon

Sheppard winced as he pulled on his shirt, careful to make sure that Beckett was looking the other way. It had been a harrowing two days, and the Major's body was beginning to broadcast the details. He had bruises on his bruises, and his ribs hurt like heck. All he wanted now was to debrief, shower, and crash for a good eight hours. Nevertheless he schooled his face to bland expectancy, turned to Beckett and hinted, “So, doc, am I good to go?”

Carson frowned as he studied the chest films hanging on the viewbox. “Honestly, Major, I’d like to get a CT of your chest and abdomen.” He pointed to Sheppard’s ribs on the films, “With fractures like those, there’s a risk of internal damage.”

That was not what John wanted to hear. “Aw, come on, doc,” he cajoled. “You already poked and prodded every inch! Except for the arm and the ribs, I’m fine.”

Beckett raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yes, but you’ve fractured five ribs. You’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung.”

“But I didn’t.”

“No,” Carson agreed, glancing at the chest film, “you didn’t.”

“Then what’s the problem? If anything happens, I can be back in a flash.” John pushed sincerity with every word.

Beckett hesitated, sympathizing with the exhaustion in the pilot’s face. “Well….do you promise to come right back if you develop any new symptoms?” 

Raising his right hand, John replied, “Scout’s honor.”

Beckett pursed his lips. He wasn’t happy about it, but the Major had a point - he had done a thorough exam and found nothing else wrong. It was just a nagging belief in Murphy’s Law that had him on edge. Finally he nodded. “All right, then, out wi’ ye. But come back if you have any problems.”

Sheppard flashed his patented ‘I got away with it again’ grin and eased down from the exam table. “Thanks, but I'll be fine. I’m a survivor.” With that reassurance and a wave, he gingerly managed to saunter out the door.

\---------------------------------

“You know Major, you might be right.” Weir narrowed her eyes consideringly. “Something certainly needs to be done.” Following the debriefing concerning the deaths of Drs. Gaul and Abrams, the two leaders of Atlantis were having a private discussion concerning ways to prevent a similar occurrence in the future. “We never know who might be needed on any given mission, and we have to make sure everyone can handle themselves in a field situation.”

“Well, we don't have to reinvent the wheel; the US military has been doing this type of training for over a hundred years.”

“Major, most of the people here are not soldiers.” 

Sheppard’s mouth set into a grim line. “No, but they end up in situations where they need to behave like one. What if Gaul or Abrams had a chance to fire a weapon but didn’t due to unfamiliarity? I just…”

Weir interrupted him with a raised hand. “Agreed. Agreed." She sighed, "What do you suggest?”

Sheppard groaned as he straightened; sitting for fifteen hours on the trip back had allowed his abused muscles to stiffen up, and further sitting in the infirmary waiting for Beckett to examine and release him hadn’t helped. With difficulty he focussed on his point; “Survival training. Range practice. But first, a team confidence course; too many people here think in terms of ‘I’ rather than ‘we’.”

Weir quirked her lip. “The scientific and medical communities are going to be hard to convince.”

Shooting her a sly glance, Sheppard waggled his index finger. “I have an idea about that…”

\--------------------------------

“A what?” McKay rolled his eyes incredulously the next day as he swung his lab stool around to face the smaller Czech engineer. 

Zelenka was momentarily startled by the circles beneath the Canadian’s eyes, but knew better than to mention it. It was an unspoken code in Science not to comment on another man’s work hours; they might think you were jealous of their stamina. Instead he responded matter-of-fact, “A…survival course. Or contest. At least, that is what I have heard. It is what the meeting this afternoon is to be about.”

The exhausted astrophysicist leaned forward on his stool intently, hands on knees. “And what, pray tell, is the point?”

“To prevent another Gaul,” replied a hard voice from the doorway. Both scientists turned to see Major Sheppard leaning stiffly against the doorframe, arms crossed. A nasty bruise had blossomed on the side of his face where the Wraith had backhanded him, causing them both to pause.

For his part Sheppard took advantage of their momentary silence to critically examine McKay. Since they had returned from the planet near the satellite, Rodney had been driven like a man possessed, and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. ‘Maybe he hasn’t…’ the soldier suddenly thought. He knew the scientist hadn’t been to bed the night before the mission (nervous) after working a full day (which for McKay was at least 18 hours). The trip itself had been 15 hours there, 4 or 5 on the ground, 15 hours back (he flew both ways). It had been 20 or so since they returned home, during which Sheppard had himself finally managed a good night’s rest…that added up to 78 hours awake minimum. Sheppard's eyes narrowed consideringly; Rodney's uncombed hair, rumpled shirt, dark caverns beneath his eyes, the fine tremor in his hands from caffeine toxicity; yep, all indications that the man had given up sleeping for the duration. Again. Softening his tone, the Major jerked his chin in Rodney’s direction. “When did you last catch some shut-eye?” he asked roughly, moving into the room. He had to concentrate on keeping his movements fluid; he was still quite stiff from the pummeling he took back on the planet, and his arm ached despite, or perhaps because of, the thorough cleaning Beckett had given it. 

McKay turned back to his computer as he replied in his characteristically higher ‘I’m lying through my teeth’ pitch, “Oh, last night.”

“Uh-huh.” ‘For about 30 minutes,’ John added mentally. Sheppard looked askance at Zelenka, who shrugged incrementally, eyebrows raised. Sheppard decided to drop it for the time being and let the scientist face his demons on his own terms. Still, he’d keep an eye on him, and the first sign that McKay needed outside help, he’d get it.

“Anyway, this exercise is meant to demonstrate the importance of training, both for military and non-military individuals. The idea is to have everyone on base team up randomly in groups of four, be dropped off with basic survival gear a day’s hike from the Gate on PXZ-459, and make it back without assistance.”

McKay turned back to face the pilot, exhausted eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Sounds too easy; what’s the catch?”

Sheppard flashed his brilliant grin; he knew better than to try to put one over on Rodney. “For each exercise, there will also be a group of people pretending to be Wraith. Their job will be to intercept and eat as many of the team members as they can…figuratively, of course. Both groups will be armed with paintball guns; the ‘Wraith’ can get up again 1 minute after being shot while the ‘Humans’ have to remain stunned for five minutes.” He smirked, “How’s that for a catch?”

McKay had visibly paled during his description, then turned away with a dismissive air. “Well, I’m too busy to be playing stupid games. Forget it.”

“Weir’s making it mandatory for everyone on base, including herself. You think she’s not busy? I’ll be happy to tell her you said so.”

McKay dropped his forehead to his hands. “No, no,” he groaned in defeat. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He raised his eyes in a glare. “But I don’t have to like it.”

Sheppard held his hands out, palms up. “No,” he agreed smilingly, “you don’t. See you at the briefing this afternoon then.” As he turned to go, he made a mental note to tweak the team memberships just a bit. Even names being drawn from a hat could be ‘misread’. Rodney clearly needed to discuss recent events with a trained professional, but would cut off his right arm before he went to see her voluntarily, so… ‘Hey, might be a good time to deal with a few other personality conflicts while we’re at it.’ Whistling to himself, he limped out to rig the draw.

\----------------------------------

McKay squinted up at the departing jumper before he turned to his ‘team’ and shouldered his pack. Not only had the groups been drawn from a hat, the position of ‘Team Leader’ had been randomly selected as well. Somehow he ended up not only participating but being in charge. He turned a critical eye to his ‘team’, who stared back at him expectantly.

Teyla stood with her usual calm acceptance of the scenario, patiently awaiting instruction. She clearly agreed with Sheppard’s thinking on this and was waiting for Rodney to assume command. McKay was internally grateful that he managed to be paired with someone as self-assured as the Athosian, and whose reactions he could predict and rely upon.

Sgt. Bates he wasn’t so sure of; while the man certainly seemed capable, he was far from being ‘Mr. Personality’. ‘Of course’, Rodney admitted wryly to himself, ‘I’m pretty far from that myself’. Bates stared unblinkingly forward as he stood at parade rest.

Dr. Kate Heightmeyer was a wild card; all he knew of the blonde was that she was a member of Beckett’s medical team. Her intelligent eyes seemed warm somehow, as if she were wise beyond her years. Rodney thought dreamily that he could get lost in…then rapidly shook his head. ‘Oh no; I am NOT going there…’ he thought to himself.

Shouldering his pack, he began speaking as he withdrew the Ancient scanner from his vest pocket. “Listen up. As you are all well aware, my name is Dr. Rodney McKay, and I will be your guide on this little exercise. We have been set down a day’s hike from the Gate on what is believed to be a relatively safe planet. Make no assumptions. We are to traverse some undisclosed geographic features, camp out overnight, and make our way back to Atlantis while avoiding the people who are pretending to be Wraith. You will be able to identify these people by their red armbands, so watch for them. They do not know where we are, and they will be trying to capture members of other teams as well, so if we’re careful and work together we stand a good chance of successfully completing this assignment.” Scanning for an energy signature that corresponded with the Gate, he rotated 30 degrees to his right and pointed, “That way.” They set off through the woods at a steady pace.

\-----------------------------------

Sheppard, despite dripping sweat as he hacked through the tall reeds with a machete, felt unaccountably content. He paused a moment to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. Nevermind that they were slogging determinedly through a swamp that probably could have been avoided; the sun was shining, the weather pleasant, and for once he wasn’t in charge. Not that he really minded command that much, but the responsibility weighed more than he liked to admit. Still, due to the relatively random nature of the scenario, Dr. Zelenka ended up supervising this expedition, so Sheppard was off the hook. He had felt it unfair to ‘fix’ his own draw, so it had truly been arbitrary. He paused a moment to wonder how Rodney was getting along with the psychologist. Grinning, he recalled that the 'random' members of that group had been Teyla and Bates; he didn’t envy Rodney one bit. Actually, he suspected that Dr. Heightmeyer had her work cut out for her.

For his group, the Major, along with Sgt. Markham and Dr. Grodin, were to follow Zelenka’s lead. Right now, they were wading through a swamp to avoid the ‘Wraith’. Sheppard’s stomach roiled uneasily as he noticed a mild constant discomfort in his left side. ‘Now where did that come from?’ he puzzled, before shrugging and resuming work with a vengeance. ‘Must be coming down with something. Wonder if it was something I ate?’ His arm was beginning to throb pretty steadily as well; he made a mental note to clean and redress the wound at their next rest break, then lost himself in the mindless work of clearing a path.

\-----------------------------------

Dr. Kavanagh had been the most outspoken opponent to the ‘survival course’ from the beginning, a fact that actually quelled a number of other potential objectors - no one wanted to be seen agreeing with the obnoxious man. His complaints ceased, however, when the names were drawn. His eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise as he was designated a group leader; a frank grin assaulted his visage when Dr. Weir was randomly assigned to his team. Lt. Ford and Dr. Beckett were the other two members pulled. Aiden just dropped his head and groaned in defeat as Kavanagh bounced on his toes excitedly; it would be a long two days.

As the jumper left the group near the top of a hill, Kavanagh instantly took charge. “Attention, everyone. Attention!” He clapped his hands authoritatively, as if addressing a second-grade class.

The group immediately turned towards him and waited. Kavanagh smirked superiorly and continued, “The time has come to demonstrate what a real leader can do. To that end, I propose we be the first team back to the Gate tomorrow morning.”

"This isn't meant to be a race…" began Elizabeth, only to be rudely interrupted by the scientist.

"Well, some people might not understand the strategic importance of winning…"

Ford, who had literally bitten his tongue at the implied aspersion towards Weir, blurted, “Oh yeah? And how do you suggest we do that, genius?” before he could stop himself. However, he was more chagrinned by Elizabeth's small frown of disapproval than Kavanagh’s sneered reply.

“We do that by hiking through at least part of the night.” The chemist's expression reflected his unshaken belief in his own brilliance. Condescendingly, he continued, “Or would your poor little footsies get too sore?”

Fire raged in Aiden’s eyes, only to be stifled by Beckett’s whispered, “Don’ worry, lad. T’will only be for a day.”

Ford forced himself to take a deep, calming breath before answering, “I can handle the hike, day or night. But in the dark someone could fall and hurt themselves.” He grinned ferally, as if to imply that he would happily help facilitate that ‘accident’, but Beckett interrupted before hostilities could escalate.

“Now, he has a point then. It would be safer to travel during the light.”

“Then we’d better get moving, shouldn’t we?” Kavanagh answered in a tone that brooked no further discussion, and gestured down the hillside.

“Aye, that we should.” Beckett sighed as he came to the same conclusion Aiden had in the briefing room; this was going to be a long couple of days.

Weir wisely remained silent and followed the men down the steep slope. 

\------------------------------

“This looks like a reasonable spot to camp for the night.” McKay examined the clearing critically. They had hiked all afternoon through a relatively dense forest, traversed some rocky terrain, and were now less than four hours from the Gate by his estimation, but he had to call a halt. Although he had managed to catnap off and on the night before, he kept startling awake to the remembered sound of a gunshot. The fourth time he found himself sitting bolt upright in bed covered in sweat, heart pounding in his ears, he snarled, ‘The heck with this’ and retreated to his nice, quiet lab where he immersed himself in ongoing projects. Now, however, he was paying for it…he was too exhausted to take another step. 

He somehow managed not to complain. Before traveling to the Pegasus galaxy he would have spent the last five hours griping incessantly. Since reaching Atlantis he had undergone repeated exposure to a military man named ‘John Sheppard’, the first natural leader he had ever encountered. Now McKay was a bright man; he could learn from observation. He had been taking unanticipated lessons in leadership from one young pilot suddenly thrust into the limelight by an accident of genetics, and the first thing he had assimilated was ‘to always put the comfort and safety of your men in front of your own’. He had been absolutely dumbfounded as the nearly-paralyzed soldier with the life-sucking tick attached to his neck had asked Teyla how she was doing. If Sheppard could do that, then McKay figured that he could manage “no whining” while he was 'acting team leader'. Fortunately, this spot looked perfect for an overnight stop.

“There’s a stream at the far edge where we can get fresh water and the evergreens overhead provide some shelter from the wind as well as camouflage from the air.” He paused thoughtfully, “We haven’t spotted any ‘Wraith’ yet, but I’m loath to start a fire for fear of alerting them to our position.”

Teyla was, as always, quietly supportive. “I concur, doctor. However, there is a way to establish a completely smokeless fire with some of the nearby vegetation.” 

“Really? That I’d like to see,” commented Bates. 

Rodney opened his mouth to reprimand the Sergeant on the inappropriate use of sarcasm, only to shut it with a snap as he watched the pair wander off, deep in conversation about the type of wood they needed to gather. 

“You look surprised.” The voice of Dr. Heightmeyer brought him back to reality. 

He shook his head in wonderment. “I guess I was expecting more fireworks. Sgt. Bates has not been exactly…tolerant of the Athosians in general, and of Teyla in particular.”

“Yet here he is in earnest conversation with her, trying to learn what woods are best for a ‘smokeless fire’,” Kate concluded.

Rodney continued to stare thoughtfully. “All afternoon he’s been unusually open-minded and helpful. Yet back on Atlantis…”

“I suspect that’s it. Back there, he is responsible for the security of the entire base, and the Athosians are relatively unknown entities. Out here, he’s almost on a ‘mini-vacation’; his only responsibility is to be a functioning member of this team. He doesn’t even have to be team leader; you have that role.” Her eyes slid sideways at him. “One which you seem to be playing exceptionally well, considering how tired you look.”

Rodney shook himself back to the present at that comment. “Hey, lots of work to be done; I was up most of the night just finishing the things that wouldn’t wait until I got back.” Kneeling next to his pack, he began scrounging for his tent-halves and sleeping bag. “We’d better start pitching camp before we lose the light.” Heightmeyer watched him for a moment, then started setting up her own.

By nightfall they had a small but smokeless fire and four pup-tents, and were devouring their self-heating MREs. As they ate, the discussion naturally flowed towards their possible strategies for defeating the Wraith, both in the exercise and in reality.

“Guerrilla warfare is always an effective technique in the field, especially if you have superior numbers.” Bates assumed his own 'lecture-mode' as he warmed to the subject between bites. Who would have thought the man was so knowledgeable about weapons and tactics? Well, anyone with half a brain, but still…

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but this is like going up against real Gorillas, except they take a full clip before they go down, won’t STAY down, and kill you if they lay a hand on you!”

“The Major did all right.” Bates replied defensively. "There must be something to be said for military tactics."

“You must be joking.” Rodney spoke around a mouthful of food. “It took a guided missile from a Jumper to take out that one Wraith. A GUIDED MISSILE! Up until then, Sheppard wasn’t even holding his own.” Rodney squirmed uncomfortably as he reflected on the Major’s inability to kill the alien who had been marooned on a desert planet for over ten thousand years. He viciously took another bite of his ‘Pork Rib’ entrée. Up until then he had begun to believe that Sheppard could defeat anyone, especially after that bullet he put into Kolya in the Gateroom. Then the man had to go prove himself human after all and get the crap beat out of him and shot by a half-senile alien vampire.

Bates ignored his pause. “So, what you’re saying is that if we happen across any ‘Wraith’, real or in this exercise, our best bet for survival is to avoid any direct encounters.”

“Absolutely.” At least Bates was demonstrating an ability to listen to others and adjust accordingly, despite their prior experiences on Atlantis. 

The soldier continued, “Still, if we could set up traps…”

“Major Sheppard tried that as well, and he did temporarily managed to injure his opponent. However, he told me on the flight back that he’d been too cautious to follow up the injuries caused by the grenade/land mine he’d created, and that the Wraith recovered amazingly fast. By the time I arrived and unloaded two clips into the creature, the Major was definitely losing. I guarantee that the best way to deal with them is to not let them know that you’re there.”

Bates nodded, eyebrows raised. "Well, you certainly have first-hand experience. Still…Teyla, what do you think?"

The Athosian was so startled at the question that she began choking, and required several hearty thumps on the back before she could clear her airway. Eyes watering, she gratefully sipped from the canteen handed to her before clearing her throat and addressing the question.

"I…agree with Doctor McKay. If it is possible to go unnoticed by a Wraith, it is most certainly the safest course of action."

Bates grunted, "Fair enough for this exercise. But long term…"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For the time being, I simply want to successfully complete this 'mission' so I don't have to repeat it in the near future." Attention suddenly on his dessert, Rodney asked, “Hey, anybody want a…” he squinted in the firelight, “Oatmeal bran bar?”

“No, thank you, Doctor,” replied Teyla.

“I’ll pass,” followed Kate.

“If you eat that, you will,” chuckled Bates.

McKay looked quizzically at the sergeant. “I beg your pardon?”

Bates turned his attention back to his own meal as he spoke. “It’s good for…you know…constipation.”

“Really. I'll defer to your greater experience with military rations.” McKay looked at the wrapper again, then pocketed the bar. At the barely-hidden smirks around the campfire, he raised his voice defensively, “Well, I’m not going to throw it away. ‘Waste not, want not.’ You never know…”

\-------------------------------------

Zelenka’s team had established camp in a cave near the base of a cliff at a waterfall. While damp, the mist from the crashing water effectively hid the smoke from their fire while the noise disguised their conversation. They were practically invisible; Sheppard had to hand it to the Czech scientist - he really knew what he was doing, despite not having any military background. He shivered a little as the mist soaked through his clothes. Funny, but he hadn’t been able to shake the sweats even after they’d exchanged the swamp for woods, and were merely back to hiking. He stared out at the trees with sudden foreboding.

“Hey Major, you’re missing a fine dinner.” Turned out that Grodin was pleasant pretty much all the time that they weren’t dealing with life-threatening situations. He, like Rodney, even liked the MREs for supper. His smiling, open face beckoned from the fire.

Sheppard managed a weak smile in return. “Just checking out the perimeter, guys.” He looked at the unopened box set at his place; he really didn’t feel much like eating, and the ‘Chili with Macaroni’ label on his package just made his queasiness worse. He half-heartedly sat and rummaged through the container.

“Anybody want a cookie, or…” he paused as he read the label by firelight, “Jalapeno Cheese Spread?”

Grodin grinned, returning to his own meal. “No thank you, Major.”

With a raised eyebrow, Sheppard soundlessly offered it to the others, who likewise declined. He set the entire box aside, drinking from his canteen instead, and leaned back against one of the larger rocks in the cavern. The coolness felt good on his back, and he let his eyes slide closed for a minute as the soft conversation wafted around him, drifting him to sleep.

\------------------------------------------

“Hsss…” The quick intake of breath alerted Ford to the predicament in front of him before he even saw Weir’s body lurch sideways. He had surreptitiously adjusted their hiking order so that he was in the rear, keeping an eye both on his team and covering their six. While he hated to be proven right…reflexes like a cat, he leapt forward, catching his commander before she could complete her fall. 

“You all right?” he asked, unaware that he was echoing Sheppard only a few weeks earlier after he had shot Koyla. When she nodded, he turned loose of her arm and bent to examine her foot, which was firmly wedged between two fallen logs.

Beckett, noticing that their group was no longer complete, hurried back. “What is it, lad?” he asked Aiden as he knelt as well.

“I think she may have twisted her ankle.” Ford gently eased the boot from its trapped position as the physician helped Elizabeth sit on one of the logs. He took her foot from the lieutenant and examined it critically.

“I’m fine, Carson. Help me up. We need to keep moving.” Weir made as if to stand until both Beckett and Ford gently pushed her back down.

“Not until I’ve examined you.” Carson was emphatic, despite the approaching crash that indicated Kavanagh had finally noted his missing team and was on his way back to find them. Easing the boot off, he palpated the ankle. “Minimal edema, no apparent fractures…you got lucky this time.”

“Why are we all just sitting around?” demanded Kavanagh loudly, hands on hips. “Did I call for a break? I did NOT. So what’s going on?”

Beckett rounded on the young man. “This is asinine. We canna continue traipsing about in the dark; someone’s going to get badly hurt.” He gestured towards Elizabeth. “If it weren’t for Ford, she could have broken her leg.”

Kavanagh sneered down his nose at the group. “I can’t help it if she’s clumsy. Get her up, and let’s get a move on.”

Ford’s move to jump up and wipe that smirk from the scientist’s face was halted by a gentle hand on his shoulder and Weir’s raised left eyebrow. Taking another deep, calming breath, he replied evenly, “Yes…Doctor.” There was no way he was referring to that man as ‘sir’. He wondered if a person could take so many 'deep, calming breaths' that they hyperventilated…

The group continued on their way even as the rain began to fall.

\------------------------------------------

Rodney, knowing that sleep would be unlikely, assigned himself the first watch. He listened to the rattle of rain on the leaves above their camp as he patrolled the perimeter, staring out into the darkness. There was something strangely comforting about the sound, as long as one was safe and dry. He was grateful that the canopy overhead prevented a majority of the drops from striking the ground. The pine needles shushed underfoot, cushioning each step, so that he walked in reasonable silence. Problem was, it was times like this that he found himself trapped with his thoughts, going over and over ways he could have prevented Gaul’s death… ‘If only I hadn’t insisted on checking out the signal…if only I had realized sooner that Wraith survival was possible over 10,000 years…if only I had remembered that Wraith, when hibernating, don’t show up on our life-signs monitors…’

“Would you mind some company?” asked a voice beside his ear, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin.

“Yaaahh…” he leapt away in startlement. A hand to his heaving chest, he stared at Kate, muttering, “Don’t do that!”

She grinned at his discomfiture. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“I know the feeling,” he said under his breath. Louder, to change the subject, he asked, “So what do you do over in the Medlab? I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before today.”

“Oh, I’m the mission Psychologist.” Heightmeyer was quite matter-of-fact.

Rodney shot her a suspicious glance. ‘There’s no way Sheppard….nah, it was completely random…he couldn’t have…’

“With all the stress people are under, it’s amazing that I don’t have a line outside my door. I know that if I had been through half the stuff in your Mission Reports, I’d be a trembling wreck in the corner of a closet!” She laughed then, a high, tinkling sound that reminded him of the nearby stream.

His eyes narrowed. “My mission reports? Why were you reading them?” He instantly suspected one busybody pilot…

Her face remained guileless. “Oh, your exploits are legendary in Medlab; Carson particularly loves going over the details. I have to read them if I want an objective view of events rather than his somewhat…embellished version.”

Rodney’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “I had no idea I was so popular.”

The blonde woman shrugged. “Well, not much happens in Medlab, and, due to Dr. Beckett’s prejudice against Gate travel, we rarely get a chance to go off-world ourselves.” They turned and started checking the far edge of the forest for movement before heading back to the fire. “May I ask you something personal?”

Rodney was feeling expansive; after all, he was legendary. “Why not?” he asked with a smug smile.

“Well, I was wondering…how did it feel to actually face a Wraith?”

McKay reacted like he’d been punched in the stomach; his breath went out with a whoosh. “I…uh…” he stammered. ‘Terrified out of my mind,’ he thought to himself. ‘I damn near peed my pants!’ Of course he would never utter those words aloud, so he finally settled for, “It was…disconcerting.”

They had made it back to the fire, and Kate sat on the log, gesturing to Rodney to sit beside her. “I can’t even imagine…” Her face remained open and accepting, silently asking him to continue.

Rodney found himself suddenly willing to talk, if just a little, about the experience. Perhaps because this woman was a relative stranger…He glanced quickly back at Teyla and Bates, both of whom were sound asleep, before continuing in a low voice, “He was…big. Like a monster from a nightmare, only you’re awake and he keeps coming at you and you know that if he reaches you, you’re dead and it’s a slow death and it’ll hurt like hell.” He inhaled deeply, embarrassed to find himself quivering on the edge of tears. Biting his lower lip, he stared down at his hands clenched together in front of him, until he felt a soft touch on his arm. Startled, he glanced up and into the eyes that were as accepting and open as ever. She remained quiet, but encouraged him with a smile.

He couldn’t handle the sincerity of her expression, so looked back down at his hands. “Sorry,” he squeaked, hating the sound of his own voice. Gradually he worked up enough nerve to steal another sidelong glimpse of her face, which was somehow reassuring. 

“Go on…” she encouraged, leaning forward.

“Gaul was dying, and he knew it; the Wraith had sucked just enough life out to necessitate one of us caring for him. Every so often it seemed as if he suddenly aged a little more. Sheppard was out there playing ‘Captain Kirk’ with a real life-sucking vampire of an alien, and I was stuck watching one of my men… one I had personally chosen for this mission, mind you… die by degrees.” Rodney raised his eyes and stared into the flames. “Gaul said I’d changed…that I wanted to be out there helping Sheppard. I denied it, of course; logically there was no way that I would want to take on a creature out of my worst nightmares.”

He took a deep breath, but refused to give into the inclination to look back at the psychologist and gage her reaction. “The weird thing is…he was right. I did want to be out there, and not just because I thought we’d be screwed if Sheppard bit it. I really wanted to help.” He snorted derisively. “Who’d have thought it - Mr. Pragmatic, ‘cut-your-losses-logically’, wanting to risk almost certain death to help a teammate.”

“Just a teammate?” came the soft inquiry.

Rodney squirmed mentally. “No…I guess…I wanted to help…a friend.” He turned to stare at her pleadingly. “You’ve gotta understand; I’ve never really had ‘friends’ before. Heck, I have a sister that I haven’t spoken to for years…I’ve just never been too good with this closeness thing, you know?” He sighed and looked back into the fire. “I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing while my friend committed heroic suicide…so I let Gaul do it instead.” He dropped his face into his hands and scrubbed his eyes tiredly.

“But…I thought you said that he was dying…” her voice nudged him to keep talking.

McKay sighed and straightened the kinks out of his back. “He was.”

“And I remember reading that Sheppard ordered you to give him a gun…”

“He did. But it was supposed to be for self-defense, not self-immolation!” Rodney rolled his eyes in frustration as the woman clearly couldn't see his blatant culpability.

“And the fact that he used it to shorten his own painful demise and facilitate you getting to help your friend bothers you?”

“YES. Yes it does. Very much,” the astrophysicist hissed. “There should have been something I could do; maybe…maybe not be so obvious about wanting to go help Sheppard…maybe come up with some, I don’t know, miracle cure or something…” he trailed off despondently. 

“Now, you're a logical man; let’s look at this logically. If Gaul hadn’t killed himself, would you have left him to go help Sheppard?”

“No. The Major ordered me to stay with him…and he needed someone there.”

“Could Sheppard have survived if you hadn’t helped him?”

“Doubtful.”

“Now, if somehow Gaul had survived long enough to make it back to Atlantis, would he still be alive today?”

Rodney dropped his eyes and shook his head. “No…no he wouldn’t. He was too far gone, and we don’t have any ‘miracle cure’. I doubt he would even have lasted the trip back.”

“So let’s see if I’ve got this straight; the way things happened, Gaul died, you and Sheppard lived.”

“Yes…” 

“If Gaul hadn’t shot himself, he would have died anyway, but slower and in more pain, and Sheppard would be dead as well.”

“Right.”

“So why do you feel guilty?” she concluded.

McKay bristled defensively. “I don’t know; you’re the psychologist. You’re supposed to tell me!”

Unfazed, Heightmeyer nodded. “All right then, try this one on for size,” her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Survivor’s guilt. You feel responsible for living when he died, because it was just luck that it wasn’t you.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Rodney hated to be thought of as superficial. “I chose him for that mission, I begged Elizabeth to let us check out the wreck, I told Sheppard that there was no way anything could have lived over ten thousand years, I forgot that hibernating Wraith don’t show up on our monitors.”

“But did you tell the Wraith to attack them instead of you?”

McKay was taken aback. “No, of course not!”

“So it was mere chance that they died instead of you?”

McKay thought about it for a moment, “Yes, I suppose it was. But still, I…”

The psychologist held up her hand. “Yes, you made some bad decisions. But we all do - learn from them and move on. Gaul’s death is not on your head.”

McKay stared at her with a deer-in-headlights gaze before turning to look doubtfully into the fire. “Perhaps not…” he considered. “Perhaps not.”

\------------------------------------

Sheppard awoke to a gentle shaking of his shoulder. “Major, wake up,” suggested a gentle Czech accent. “Time for your watch…”

The pilot groaned and blearily open his eyes. ‘Damn, but my stomach hurts. What did I eat, anyway? Oh, that’s right…nothing. Huh. I wonder why it hurts, then.' Shaking off these reflections as unhelpful, he focussed on his team leader, who was staring at him worriedly.

“Major, are you all right? You appear ill.” Zelenka radiated concern. The small man peered nearsightedly at the pilot over the top of his fogged-up glasses, clearly not liking what he saw. Coming to a decision, he concluded, “Why don’t you go back to sleep? I’ll take your watch.”

Sheppard grunted and gingerly sat up. “No, no, I’m fine.” He quickly put on his ‘game face’, the one that hid everything underneath a veneer of self-assurance. He was proud of Zelenka - the man was a natural leader; his instincts were spot-on. He cared about his men more than himself, even if he could be a little gruff when stressed. As he rose he diverted the engineer’s attention by asking, “So, who follows me, and when?”

“Grodin, at 0400. He asked for that shift because he likes mornings. The sun rises at six-oh-four, so if we get up around then we should be underway by 7:30 at the latest.”

Sheppard nodded with a forced smile. “Sounds good, boss. Anything moving out there I should know about?”

The engineer shook his head, droplets from his damp hair splattering Sheppard's face. “No. It’s been quiet. The ‘Wraith’ must either be camped out themselves or bothering the other teams.”

The Major nodded. “Alright, get some sleep. You’re not up for a Rodney McKay look-alike prize.”

“Thank heavens,” muttered the Czech as he crawled tiredly into his own sleeping bag.

The fire had died down, so Sheppard carefully added some more wood, making certain he didn't jostle himself too much. He hadn’t noticed how cold this planet was before, and the extra heat was worth a little discomfort. He stood and walked to the edge of the cave and stared into the darkness, wrapping his hands around his own shoulders in order to conserve body heat. No matter what he told Zelenka, he really didn’t feel well. It reminded him of the time years ago when he’d gotten food poisoning from some old egg salad at the mess hall; vague but increasingly severe belly pain, sweats, nausea, mild dizziness…he didn’t have the vomiting or diarrhea, but otherwise it was the same feeling. He shook his head; whatever it was, it would pass. He had a watch to carry out right now. Staring out at the storm, he shivered again, glad they had sheltered in a cave for the night. He would spend as much time as he could near their nice, warm fire.

\-----------------------------------------

Kavanagh's group had been sullenly slugging onward through the pitch-black downpour for several hours now, each person concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other without slipping and falling, following their dogged ‘leader’ who seemed hell-bent on killing them all before morning. Just as Ford became convinced that he could realistically murder Kavanagh on the grounds of ‘justifiable homicide’, the chemist signaled a halt. With a huff they each plopped miserably to the ground as Kavanagh checked his meter. Weir sat on a log and curled into herself, preserving body heat. Her face was hidden from the rest of the group, but her hair dripped into the puddle at her feet. Still, she knew that if she said anything, just one word, it would be thrown back into her face for the remainder of their time on Atlantis. Given the current state of affairs, that could be a very, very long time, so she kept her mouth shut. She could outlast this jerk, and then some.

Beckett wasn’t so certain. Staring over at the miserable woman in the near-complete darkness, he became concerned that he might have missed something on his earlier examination of her ankle. Sighing, he rose to try and convince her to let him take another look.

Kneeling in the mud next to her ankle, he murmured, "Let me check your leg again, lass. Some injuries don't show themselves right away." Without waiting for permission, he reached over and lifted the offending limb to examine it with his fingers. Kavanagh had early-on forbidden the use of even red-lens lights, on the belief that it would get them spotted. Fortunately, the swelling from a sprain could be determined by palpation alone. His ears were sharp enough to catch her muffled hiss as he managed to pry off her boot, but refrained from commenting aloud as he proceeded with his evaluation. 

Ford sat alone, stewing angrily as he watched the doctor care for their injured 'comrade' as the team leader blithely ignored the situation. He didn’t like to complain, but it appeared that Weir wouldn’t and Beckett was too busy worrying about her health to do so. Aiden decided that it was up to him, so he cleared his throat meaningfully to capture the oblivious Kavanagh’s attention. “Come on, doc. It’s just a few hours until dawn. Can’t we give it a rest?”

The self-proclaimed genius looked over at Ford and sneered audibly. “Hardly. By my calculations, we’re several hours ahead of schedule; this way the ‘Wraith’ won’t be expecting us, and we can slip by without any problem.” He pocketed the scanner. “Let’s go.”

“Beggin’ the doctor’s pardon, but the young man is right.” Beckett threw in his two cents as he finished wrapping Elizabeth's ankle and wedging on her boot. “We’re tired, wet, and cold, and therefore likely to make mistakes. If you’re wrong, we’re not going to be able to compensate as well and are more likely to be captured.”

“I’ll do just fine, thank you.”

“But this is supposed to be a team exercise,” objected Carson, catching the pronoun usage. “You have to get your team through, or it doesn’t count.”

Kavanagh snorted. “The best way to run a team is for every member to keep their own self-interest foremost; then we all survive.”

“Well, I beg to differ.” Carson was firm. “We would be safer if we took a breather.”

Kavanagh bent until he was nose-to-nose with the Scotsman. “I am the leader, and I say we move - NOW.”

The physician's tone became dangerously low as he hissed, “Verra well. On your head be it.” Carson gave Ford a hand up, then the pair of them helped Elizabeth. After making sure that they were all following, Kavanagh set off again determinedly.

They continued again in silence for about twenty minutes when the scientist suddenly let loose a blood-curdling scream and disappeared from view. Beckett, Ford, and Weir blinked stupidly in shock before rushing to the spot where he had vanished. Peering over the edge of the steep slope, Aiden pointed towards the lump that almost certainly had to be their ‘boss’.

“Doctor Kavanagh! Can you hear me?” cried Beckett at the top of his lungs.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Get me outta here!” came the irate reply.

“We’re going to lower a rope to you; can you stand?” asked Ford as he dumped his pack and began rooting through it for a length of rope.

A pause as Aiden looped the rope around a nearby tree, then Kavanagh’s voice filtered back, “No, I think my leg’s broken! Beckett, get down here! My leg’s broken!!!” The voice was nearing hysterical as Aiden rigged a safety harness for himself and prepared to go down after their fearless leader. “So much for Mr. ‘every man for himself’ and ‘I’m not clumsy’,” muttered the Lieutenant. Aloud he yelled, “I’ll come down first, then Beckett. Don’t worry; we’ll get you out.” Before beginning his descent, he turned to the others. “Doctor Beckett, no matter what he yells, don’t come down until I signal that it’s safe. The last thing we need is two injured people. And Ma’am,” he added, turning to Weir, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay here to spot the rope. If his leg is really broken, we may have to call for an airlift out, and the higher ground will have better reception.”

Weir laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Certainly Lieutenant. Be careful.”

Aiden snorted, smiling for the first time in hours. "Will do, ma'am." With a nod, he headed gingerly down the slope, thinking, 'Now that's what a real leader is supposed to be!'

\----------------------------------------------------------------

As the sky began to lighten, Doctor Rodney McKay noted with surprise that he and Kate had chatted through the night. Discussion had ranged from Heightmeyer's amazingly-empty office hours, to stress somatization, to the possible psychological problems of the Wraith themselves. ‘I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable talking to anyone, much less a psychologist,’ McKay reflected. ‘And I can’t remember the last time I felt so…whole. As if the sun didn’t rise and set on my say-so.’ Despite the lack of sleep, Rodney felt more energetic than he had in months. Humming under his breath, he stirred up the fire to make coffee before Teyla and Bates woke up.

Dr. Heightmeyer felt pretty good herself, and made a mental note to thank Major Sheppard for setting this up. She had stayed up all night with their Chief Scientist, indirectly discussing many of his most debilitating fears. By the time the sun rose, she had given his subconscious quite a bit to chew on. 'That is one screwed-up genius,’ she thought bemusedly, shaking her head as she went to brush her teeth. ‘If he weren’t so blazingly brilliant, his neuroses would swamp him.’ She smiled as she recalled his tentative suggestion to have a few more sessions, just to save her from boredom of course, upon their return to base. ‘He is going to be my pet project for the next six months,’ she chuckled.

Teyla, always a light sleeper, stirred as she heard the clank of the coffeepot on the stones. Scratching her head, she wandered over to where McKay had progressed to tuneless whistling as he added the coffee grounds to the boiling water. 

“Doctor McKay. It is morning, yet you did not awaken me for my watch,” she sounded confused and mildly hurt.

“Me either,” added Bates appreciatively, holding out a mug. “May I?”

“Certainly.” As Bates poured himself a cup, Rodney explained, “I couldn’t sleep anyway, and saw no logical reason for everyone to be up.”

Bates shot him a concerned look, which surprised McKay. “Is everything all right, Doctor?” he asked.

The astrophysicist considered for a moment. “Yes, Sgt. Bates, it is. Moreso than it has been in quite some time.” He raised his own cup to his lips as Kate’s smile widened.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Sheppard stared out the cave entrance as the sky turned from gray to pink to yellow. The rain had ceased sometime during the night, but he was unsure as to when. The hours of his watch had blurred together as the pain increased, until his whole world was focussed on the red-hot knife stabbing him in his left side, intermittently radiating out to engulf the rest of his stomach. It had worked its way deeper throughout the night as well, and sharpened until each step was a new experience in agony. All he wanted to do was to curl up in a corner and rest, but instinct told him that he couldn't. If he lay down, he’d not get up again, at least not without help, so he let Grodin sleep through his shift. As the sun made its official appearance, he sighed and headed over to the rest of the group.

“Rise and shine, boys and girls!” he exclaimed with false heartiness. “Up and at’em…Time’s a’wastin’...All those other cliches!” He tried not to chuckle at his own joke; laughing was definitely ‘a bad thing’. This was possibly the worst stomach flu he’d ever had. Still, he didn’t want their group scrubbed on account of him not being able to fight off some bug, so he resolved to hide it until they got back to base. After all, it was only a couple more hours.

The rest of the team woke up quite quickly, particularly Grodin. “John, why did you let me sleep? You look like you could have used it yourself.” He critically evaluated the Major. The man was pale, sweaty, and there was a fine tremor to his nearest hand…

John plastered on his devil-may-care smirk and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nah, wasn’t tired. Couldn’t have slept anyway, so you might as well.” ‘Ain’t that the truth’ he thought to himself grimly as he turned to gather his own gear.

Zelenka was an observant little man, Sheppard had to give him that. The engineer’s eyes narrowed as he studied the way the Major moved over to his pack. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite straighten up. Zelenka chose not to comment, but stored the data to support a theory he was forming concerning the good pilot’s health. John suppressed his feeling of unease as the group set about eating and preparing to leave. Breakfast was definitely not on the Major’s ‘To Do’ list, so he busied himself by rummaging through his ruck.

Zelenka had been watching him closely, and now moved up and quietly placed a hand on his arm. “Major, are you unwell?” Radek was clearly concerned, but had approached him privately where no one else could eavesdrop.

Sheppard flashed a grin. “Of course not,” he reassured the Czech. “Just a little stiff from the cold and rain last night.” He made a show of stretching out his back, even though he broke anew into a cold sweat from the searing pain that stabbed across his gut. He was concentrating so hard on faux nonchalance that he almost missed the next question.

“What would you like for breakfast? I would be happy to bring it to you.” 

Sheppard swallowed the bile that rose at the thought and managed a sick smile. “Nah,” he said depreciatingly. “I’m not very hungry this morning.”

“But you ate nothing at dinner!” Zelenka looked prepared to force-feed him if necessary.

John gently patted his belly. “Watching the old waistline; gotta set an example at weigh-in.” Zelenka stared at him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded uncertainly and moved off.

Once he was looking elsewhere, John bent over again, surreptitiously clutching his stomach. “Dang, that’s some cramp,” he muttered. “I’ll be glad when I shake this flu.” Picking up his pack, he gingerly shouldered it and joined the rest of the group as they prepared to start traveling. 

\----------------------------------------

After walking uneventfully for about two hours, Rodney suddenly noticed what looked like a patch of red. He immediately threw up his hand for a halt, then gestured for everyone to take cover. The team did as they were silently instructed and secreted themselves in the underbrush where their camouflage uniforms blended right in. Making as little noise as possible, McKay eased the ‘life signs detector’ from his pocket and pointed down the path. Sure enough, two other beings registered; that, coupled with the red flash he had spotted, meant the Atlantis ‘Wraith’ were out and about. One by one he caught each of his team members’ eyes and made sure they saw the approaching threat. He was quite gratified to see three weapons besides his own clear their holsters and be held at the ready in case they were discovered, but no one making a move to draw attention to themselves or make a preemptive strike. Clearly they remembered the previous evening's discussion.

“So, what you’re saying is that if we happen across any ‘Wraith’, real or in this exercise, our best bet for survival is to avoid any direct encounters.”

“Absolutely…I guarantee that the best way to deal with them is to not let them know that you’re there.”

 

The group barely breathed as, one by one, the two soldiers with the red armbands crept quietly past their position. McKay had a sudden urge to sneeze when one young man was within a few yards of his hiding place, but a quick remembrance of his actual Wraith encounter squelched it. He waited a good five minutes to make certain that they weren’t returning before giving the ‘all clear’ signal. As the group cautiously emerged from the underbrush, they kept an eye out for other signs of ‘Wraith’ in the vicinity.

“I don’t want to make assumptions, but we might just be behind the line here,” McKay murmured. “What do you think, Bates?”

The Sgt. nodded thoughtfully. “Could be. Still, the smart money would be on them leaving at least one or two people guarding the Gate itself.”

“Well, then, I guess the ‘don’t let’em know you’re here’ policy is going to need some tweaking…” McKay was thoughtful.

“Could we walk and discuss this at the same time?” asked Teyla pragmatically.

Rodney, mouth half-open to speak, did an about-face with his finger still pointing skyward. His jaw closed with a snap before turning to the Athosian, “Good point. Shall we?”

The group resumed their conversation in low tones as they warily made their way towards the goal.

\--------------------------------

“Ooowwwww…be careful!!! That hurts!” Kavanagh, face scrunched in pain, berated Beckett as he gently examined his leg.

“I am being careful,” the physician calmly explained for the hundredth time. He resisted the urge to yell in frustration by repeating to himself, ’Remember he’s a patient, remember he’s a patient…’

Carefully peeling back the man’s trousers, he palpated for step-offs, then started to check for soft-tissue injury. “On a pain scale from 1 to 10, number one being 'no pain' and ten being the worst pain you can imagine, what’s this?” he asked, pressing the skin near the knee.

“OWWW….TEN!” howled their leader.

“Alright…here?” he carefully touched an area in the mid-shin.

“TEN, Ten, ten!!!!”

Beckett narrowed his eyes and barely brushed the skin over the ankle. “Here?”

“TEN!”

The physician, losing his patience, rocked back onto his heels and looked Kavanagh straight in the eye. “They can’t ALL be a bloody ten, ya know,” he sighed, exasperated.

“Well, I say they are, and I should know; it’s my leg. Where’d you get your medical degree, anyway, a cereal box?” Kavanagh stuck his chin out defiantly. “We need to call for a Medi-vac. I’m unable to walk another step!”

“Lad, be reasonable. You don’t have any swelling, nothing’s broken, nothing’s torn, and you barely have a bruise. We're only an hour or so from the Gate. If we give up now, we’ll have to repeat this whole exercise.” That was something the physician didn’t want to contemplate. Keying the mike, he signaled Weir, “He’s all right; come on down and join the party.”

“Hey, I’m gravely injured!” objected the chemist.

“No, you’re not.”

“Well I say I am, and I don’t want to participate in this little game anymore. Signal the Jumper to pick us up.” Kavanagh crossed his arms in a petulant sulk.

“No, doctor, I won’t. We’re almost there, and if we quit, we have to go out again with the next group.”

Ford was alarmed. He really would murder Kavanagh. “You’re not serious.”

“Aye, but I am. If we don’t conclude this ‘survival course’ by reaching the Gate or being captured by the 'Wraith', we have to repeat it.” Beckett sighed heartily as Weir arrived to hear the last statement.

“Is that true Ma’am?” Ford asked.

Weir met his eyes with a steady gaze. “Yes, those were the rules. The idea was to give everyone a chance to complete the exercise if circumstances had somehow prevented them form doing so initially.”

Ford grabbed the scientist beneath the arm. “Well, then, you’re not quitting,” he growled as he started to haul the larger man to his feet. 

Weir and Beckett stepped in to intercede as Kavanagh shook himself free, then lunged at the young soldier, 'broken leg' forgotten. “Gentlemen, please!” Weir wanted to remain in a non-leadership role, but without any leader at all the situation was rapidly getting out of hand. “Calm yourselves.”

Kavanagh’s reply was cut short by the sound of four paintballs striking, one in the center of each of their chests. Ford rolled his eyes and sat heavily on the ground, dropping his head into his hands and groaning. Beckett and Weir exchanged confused glances as Kavanagh, easily standing unaided, simply stared at his chest.

“Gentlemen…and lady,” observed one of the approaching red-banded ‘Wraith’, “Your argument is now moot, as all four of you have been simultaneously ‘stunned’.” He smirked as he got a good look at the 'captives'. “Consider yourselves Wraith-kibble.”

Beckett closed his gaping jaw before breaking into a wry grin. “Well, at least we won’t have to repeat this fiasco.” Turning to Kavanagh and slapping him on the back, he added in consolation, “Don’t worry lad. So ye failed as a leader…you still get to ride back in a jumper!”

Even Ford snickered at the chemist's disgruntled expression as the appropriate calls were made.

\------------------------------------------------

As Zelenka’s group moved closer to their objective, Sheppard’s world rapidly shrunk to putting one foot in front of the other with as little jarring as possible; the stitch in his left side had become excruciating, but promised much worse if he were to jostle it in any way. His skin was continuously soaked with sweat, but he felt chilled to the bone. He remained just aware enough of the man in front of him so as not to inadvertently bump into him, but no more. Increasingly lightheaded as the morning wore on, his vision tended to tunnel in or gray out altogether at the most inopportune times. Once he barely avoided a tumble down a steep, gravel slope that the team hiked past single-file. Nevertheless, he managed to plod forwards without significant mishap.

The abnormal behavior did not go unnoticed by Zelenka, Grodin, or even Sgt. Markham; they exchanged worried glances over Sheppard's bowed head frequently, then fell into an instinctive protective formation. Zelenka took point, as he had both the detector and sharp eyes; he could lead them and keep an eye out for ‘Wraith’ at the same time. Grodin, who was much stronger than he looked, sidled in next to John ready to lend a hand if needed and to nudge him away from any dangers in the path. Markham, the most experienced soldier on the team except Sheppard, covered their rear.

They continued on like this for quite some time, until Zelenka could endure no more. He slowed to a halt near a stand of fallen trees as he considered his options. “Why don’t we take a breather?” he asked with false cheerfulness. Edging up to the unmoving Sheppard, he touched his elbow and asked quietly, “Major? Shall we sit down for a few minutes?”

John raised his head slowly, taking in their surroundings for the first time. “Huh?….Oh, yeah….sure…” he looked around, dazed.

Grodin captured his other elbow and helped steer him towards one of the fallen logs. “I must say, you don’t look well.” Peter silently added to himself, ‘My cat’s hacked up healthier-looking hairballs…’ “May I help you over to that stump?”

Sheppard managed a single jerk of his head in assent. “Yeah. That’d be good.” Maneuvering the normally indestructible pilot like he was spun glass, they finally got him settled quietly on the log. Zelenka knelt so that he was in the pilot's line of sight, his heart leaping into his throat at the pale gray complexion and the glassy eyes. “Major Sheppard?…Major?…John?” The Czech’s anxiety level rose two notches when their ranking military commander didn’t respond. He touched the man’s knee to get his attention. “Major, can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

The deathly-white face finally lifted and lifeless eyes met the Czech’s with some slight spark of recognition. The brows creased in confusion, however. “Doctor Zelenka?” he asked.

“Yes, Major. How are you doing?" He gestured to include the rest of the group. "We’re all a little concerned about you.”

It took Sheppard a few moments to swim through the fog clouding his mind. “I think…I’ve got some kind of flu…”

“You look like hell, John,” remarked Grodin impassively.

“I find myself concurring; you are not well.” Zelenka had adopted a no-nonsense approach. Something was seriously wrong, and he needed to find out what.

Sheppard waved a hand deprecatingly, “Nah, nah….I’m fine. Jus’…a li’l tired’s all…” His words slurred with combined weakness and exhaustion.

Zelenka raised an eyebrow. “I have seen you tired before, my friend, and this is worse.” 

Sheppard carefully closed his eyes to rest them for a moment. “Yeah, well…you know…virus…”

“What are your symptoms?” asked the British weapons analyst.

“Oh, hey, it’s nothing.” The Major, realizing that if this kept up they might call the Jumper, seemed to get his second wind and gently batted the scientists’ hands away. To further demonstrate his fitness, he made a sudden attempt to stand as he continued, “Come on, we need to get going…” The world spun crazily on its axis as his vision grayed out completely. He wanted to ask who had replaced his knees with water balloons as they gave way, dropping him to the ground with a thud. However, the jolt from striking the ground produced the previously-hinted-at agony that exploded in his left side, collapsing him helplessly into a heap on the ground.

“Major!” exclaimed three voices from a receding distance as he wrapped his arms around his stomach, curled into a whimpering ball, and waited for the guy twisting the knife in his side to move along. He could feel his teammates’ hands on his shoulders and hear the buzzing of concerned questions, but he couldn’t quite make them out through the scarlet haze that enveloped his brain. He struggled momentarily to say something reassuring, but gave up as his whole world went black.

\---------------------------------

McKay’s eyes narrowed as they surveyed the Gate from the tree line. As Bates predicted, there were two visible guards on the Gate itself, and an unknown number elsewhere in the vicinity. The two they could see were in ‘watchful waiting’ mode, habitually scanning the forest for incursions but not really expecting any. Rodney glanced at his watch and smiled; they had made good time and were ahead of schedule. He fleetingly wondered how the other teams were doing, then returned his attention to the task at hand. Raising his arm, he silently signaled the waiting sergeant across the clearing, then Teyla in the other direction. After receiving the confirmatory signal from them both, he checked the exact time then scooted back to Dr. Heightmeyer.

“Well, there’s definitely two out there; might be more.” He looked at his watch. “We have just about three minutes before showtime.” Taking in her nervous expression, he asked gently, “Are you ready?”

Gulping, the psychologist nodded. “Yes, I have the codes memorized and my IDC right here.” She held up the device.

Rodney flashed her a crooked Sheppard-grin. “Good girl. Come on.”

They crept back to the edge of the clearing just in time to hear a terrific commotion in the direction McKay had last seen Bates. Both guards’ heads snapped up and, after exchanging a glance, the one nearer the noise set off to investigate. Just then another ‘crash’ could be heard from Teyla’s area. The first guard waved the second over to check it out, as he continued on towards Bates. 

“Well, that answers that,” murmured McKay.

“What?” asked Kate.

“There’s only the two; if there were more, they would have left someone by the DHD.” He turned to face her, “Ready?” At her nod, he made one last check of the clearing. Both guards had disappeared in their respective directions.

“GO!” he cried. “I’ll cover you.”

Kate jumped up from her crouched position and ran for all she was worth to the DHD, with Rodney following at a slower pace. He’d never been much of a sprinter in high school, and he was busy watching for movement from the forest. As he, too, reached the DHD, Heightmeyer was just striking the last panel of the code for Atlantis. He stood at her back, gun ready. 

As the psychologist activated her IDC transmitter, two figures burst into view. Rodney held his fire long enough to determine that they were indeed Teyla and Bates before jerking his head towards the event horizon. “Let’s go home.”

As the rest of the team joined them at a run, paintballs began spattering about their feet. “Go!” Rodney cried, pushing her through. 

“I thought you were supposed to stun them!” he yelled at the racing Sergeant.

“Yeah, but it only lasts a minute, remember?” The soldier turned to return fire as Teyla made the platform and jumped through the circle.

The oncoming guards were definitely finding their range; paintballs splattered the event horizon as the two men leapt through unscathed. 'We're not cleaning that paint off the Gateroom floor!' was all Rodney could inanely think as his team was swamped with handshakes and hearty congratulations. 

\------------------------------------------

As John collapsed, Zelenka lost no time hitting the transmitter on his headset. “Jumper One, this is Zelenka. We need medical assistance immediately!”

“What seems to be the problem?” came back Dr. Derek Lawrence’s calm, pleasant drawl.

“I am not certain, but the Major has collapsed.”

There was some imaginative cursing on the other end before Beckett’s brogue interjected itself. “Was he havin’ any symptoms beforehand?”

“Yes, but he was trying to hide them. I do not believe that he felt it too serious. He said something about a virus.” Zelenka watched as Grodin and Markham did their best to make the unconscious man comfortable. They stretched him out on his back and, in good first-aid fashion, elevated his feet on his pack and placed a folded jacket beneath his head as a pillow.

“What were they, exactly?” Dr. Lawrence, Atlantis’ general surgeon, had apparently wrestled the mike back from his superior.

Zelenka considered. “He was pale, sweaty, and unsteady. He seemed slightly confused. He stood up quickly, then grabbed his stomach and collapsed.”

“How long had he been feeling unwell?” Zelenka could hear frenetic activity occurring in the background every time the surgeon keyed his transmitter. ‘They must be on Atlantis and the Gate must be open,’ he realized. He didn’t waste time puzzling about what might have happened to Beckett’s team to require evacuation as he had problems of his own.

“Since last night, I suspect, although I cannot be certain. He ate nothing for dinner, claiming to be on a diet when I inquired. This morning was the first time I noticed the pallor and the sweats, and he ate nothing for breakfast.” Zelenka squatted next to Grodin who was trying to feel Sheppard’s carotid.

“Did he hit his head or sustain any other injuries since you were dropped off?”

“No, we have had no problems.”

“Does anyone there know how to check pulse and respirations?” Beckett was back on the line. Zelenka could hear the Jumper engine firing up in the background.

Grodin answered, “Yes. His pulse is 130 and thready, his respirations are 24 and shallow.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Derek replied, “All right, don’t move him. We need to disconnect the incoming wormhole and reestablish one headed your direction. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Those ‘few minutes’ seemed to stretch into eternity as the group waited for help to arrive. Zelenka left his transponder on so they could be more easily located, but it still took an apparent lifetime. By the time the jumper set down, Sheppard was beginning to moan and twitch slightly. The engines weren’t even completely powered down when the back ramp folded out and Beckett, Lawrence, and the medical team piled out.

The surgeon knelt beside the downed man and began gently slapping his face. “Major, can you hear me?” he asked. A corpsman began taking vital signs as a nurse started a large-bore IV. Beckett pulled Zelenka and the others aside, out of the way.

“You say he didn’t hurt himself out here?” The Scotsman was confused.

“No, we have done nothing but walk.”

Beckett eyes narrowed consideringly as he watched the trauma team work. “Then it must be some sort of delayed injury from his last mission. I gave him a physical myself; he had a gunshot wound to the upper left arm, some cracked ribs but no punctured lung, and lots of bruises. I didn't find anything that could account for this!”

Sheppard chose that moment to return to pain-filled awareness. Derek paused his exam as the Major’s eyes squinted open. 

“Hey, glad you could join the party.” Dr. Lawrence smiled down reassuringly at the man as he signaled his crew to bring over the stretcher. “Can you tell me where you hurt?”

“Stomach,” John ground out.

"Where, exactly?" demanded the physician.

"All over…" groaned the pilot unhelpfully.

Dr. Lawrence decided to try a different tact. “What happened?”

Sheppard stared blurrily at the foliage overhead. “I must’ve…passed out.” He smiled weakly at his own joke. Too bad McKay wasn’t here to 'correct' his phraseology.

“But what happened before that?”

The Major struggled to remember. “Umm…yesterday I got a little stomach ache and queasy, but I figured it was just something I’d eaten.”

“And today?” prompted Derek.

“The pain got worse, like a stitch in my side.”

BINGO! That got the surgeon’s attention. “Which side?” he asked intently.

“My…left. Right about…here.” Sheppard pointed to his left flank, just at the bottom of his rib cage. A thought occurred to him. “Doc, could it be my ribs? I know I cracked a few when that Wraith belted me…”

Beckett’s eyes widened visibly as realization dawned, then slapped his forehead with his palm. Derek shot Carson a pointed, questioning look that was not lost on the senior physician. “He wasna’ complaining of his belly before…” he explained weakly.

“Which ribs?” hissed the surgeon, addressing his Chief. 

“Seven through ten, mid-axillary line,” replied Beckett with a groan.

Derek’s mouth tightened in a grim line as he turned to the corpsmen and began barking orders. “All right, get that stretcher as close as you can, then we lift on three. Ready? One…two…three!” 

The Major was lifted in a smooth, fluid motion and carefully deposited on the gurney. Still, that tiny movement sent a wave of agony flooding up his nerves, washing across his brain and dropping him back into unconsciousness. 

Seeing that Sheppard had ‘passed out’ again, Derek dropped all pretense of bedside manner. “ You two, get him into the Jumper, NOW, but don't jostle him too much. Beth, I need another IV once we’re there, and run them both wide open. I’d like a BP when you can get it, too.” 

He turned to address the remainder of the team, “I guess your ‘survival course’ is called on account of injury. Why don’t you grab his stuff and join us on board?”

The group hustled quickly into the ship. Once there, Dr. Lawrence became engrossed in resuscitating his patient, while Beckett sat to one side and gazed on unhappily. Zelenka turned to their CMO, unasked questions in his eyes. Beckett sighed and pursed his lips.

“When the Major battled the Wraith the other day, he was pretty banged up. He broke several of his ribs, but didn’t puncture his lung. Unfortunately, lungs aren’t the only organs the ribs protect.”

“So…what is happening?” Zelenka kept his tone low so as not to disturb Dr. Lawrence’s treatment as they flew towards the gate.

Taking a deep breath, Carson shook his head. “He shows all the signs of a splenic rupture. He’ll probably go straight to surgery once we arrive.”

As if to confirm his theory, Dr. Lawrence contacted the infirmary as soon as the Gate dialed up and ordered them to prep the O.R.

\-----------------------------

As the shuttle landed in the Jumper Bay, the activity around Major Sheppard increased. Grodin and Zelenka stood close to Carson, plying him with questions, in order to understand some of the ramifications of the situation. 

Zelenka was surprised at the way Carson had been pushed to the sidelines by Dr. Lawrence. Shoving his glasses up onto his nose absentmindedly, he asked, "Dr. Beckett, are you not the Chief Medical Officer? Why are you not in charge?"

Carson was distracted from his own dark thoughts by the question. "Hmmm? Oh, because this is a surgical problem, and Derek is our chief surgeon." Upon noting Radek's continued confusion, he explained, "Dr. Biro is our pathologist, and a fine one she is, too. Now, while her training, like mine, included basic surgery, she found pathology to be more to her liking and probably hasn't operated on a living patient in a primary capacity since residency. Likewise, while I'm a decent diagnostician, I found research genetics and microbiology more my cup o' tea; while I could take out a spleen in a pinch, you're safer leaving it up to the person with five years of specialized training, and significant subsequent experience. That would be Dr. Lawrence."

“But…isn’t this too long after his injury by the Wraith to be a ruptured spleen? I thought those had to be treated immediately to keep the patient from bleeding to death.” Grodin appeared confused now.

Beckett straightened as he warmed to the subject. “Normally, that’s true. However, you can have a small injury to the spleen parenchyma that is contained by the splenic capsule. When this happens, it’s called a ‘contained splenic hematoma’, and can often be treated safely with bedrest followed by light duty. However, if the capsule starts to leak or ruptures completely, the patient is placed in a position that mandates surgery." His lips thinned into a grim line. "I should have picked this up on his post-mission exam!”

“But I thought you said that he didn’t have any abdominal pain…”

“But you see, that’s just it.” Beckett was clearly angry at himself. “You don’t have any symptoms, not until it starts leaking or gets so big that the capsule itself begins to hurt from the stretching.”

Zelenka put a hand on the physician’s arm. “Then, why do you feel you have done something wrong?” He snorted, “Unless you are psychic, there was no way of knowing that the Major had a problem until he began to have pain, and even that he hid for half a day.” 

Carson looked at the toes of his shoes. “Ah know, ah know. It’s just that…I know Major Sheppard. Heaven knows he's been in the infirmary often enough. And I know that he tends to minimize any personal injury or discomfort to the point of trying to deny it altogether. I don’t know if it’s ‘macho’ or what, but this tendency is going to get him needlessly killed some day.” He stared at the frantic activity around the gurney and concluded, “If it hasn’t already. The point is, I should have scanned him, no matter what he said. It might have picked up the injury before he had any symptoms.”

“Or it might not have.” That was Dr. Lawrence kicking in his two cents as they packed up to leave the shuttle. “Carson, you need to stop beating yourself up over this. You’re an Internist with a bent towards microbiology; you’re not a trauma surgeon.” He looked up at his boss with his brown eyes flashing amusement. “And, despite rumours to the contrary, you’re also not God.” His attention turned to the nurse, “Hey, that IV bag’s almost out. You got another?”

As the Jumper hatch opened, they were met with a scrub-attired contingent that whisked the still-unconscious Sheppard and his attending surgeon off to the operating room, past a worried Weir who was just entering the bay. She watched them leave, then turned to Beckett. Her hair was still wet from the hot shower she had indulged in upon returning to base, and she absently combed her fingers through it to try and get it to dry. “What happened?” she asked directly.

“We think the Major has a ruptured spleen. He’s off to surgery now.”

Weir’s brows creased in concentration. “How did it happen?”

He gestured for her to precede him out of the bay. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way to the infirmary.” 

\-------------------------------------------

There was a worried group hovering in Medlab by the time Dr. Lawrence made it out of surgery. Knowing how families examine the approaching surgeon’s face for hints as to the outcome of any operative procedure, he plastered on a reassuring smile. ‘And let’s not kid ourselves, the Atlantis Base is Major Sheppard’s family,’ he thought wryly.

Weir, McKay, Ford and Teyla turned as one and converged anxiously on the surgeon, but he was aware of Beckett hovering just slightly in the background. “Don’t worry, he’s going to be fine.” It had actually been pretty touch and go at first, until he got control of the splenic artery and vein. The injury itself had been relatively minor, and he managed to repair it without sacrificing the spleen. Still, the Major was going to be pretty sore for a while. 

“May we see him?” asked Weir.

Derek nodded. “He’ll be coming out in just a minute. He’s still pretty sedated; he won’t know that you’re here.”

The base commander sighed. “That’s fine. I just prefer to believe my own eyes - nothing personal.”

Derek pulled off his scrub cap with a crooked grin. “I understand.” Just then the gurney with their injured colleague appeared from around the corner, and the group trooped over to follow him to the infirmary recovery area, where traffic control was in the capable hands of Nurse Madison. Dr. Lawrence took a moment and meandered over to where Beckett was studying an empty beaker with ferocious intensity.

Laying a hand on the Scott’s shoulder, Derek went straight to the point. “Excuse me, sir, but you do understand that this is not your fault, right?”

Beckett scowled at the glassware in his hand. “I should have scanned him when I saw those ribs. I thought about it, but didn’t do it. I returned him to full duty with a splenic hematoma!”

“Maybe a CT would have showed something, or maybe not. If he was truly asymptomatic, he might have had a subclinical injury that didn’t manifest itself until he started running around on that planet. Then we were dependent upon his reporting the new symptoms, which he didn’t do.”

Beckett narrowed his eyes. “Still…”

Derek threw up his hands in exasperation; it had been a long day. “Look, what are you going to do? CT everybody who gets a bump or bruise? I once had a patient with a ruptured spleen from his cocker spaniel knocking him sideways into the arm of his couch. He happened to catch the carved wood under his ribcage in just the wrong way and banged his spleen. He’d have bled to death if a friend hadn’t dropped by and dragged him to the ER.”

Beckett sighed and set down the beaker. “It’s just so…frustrating.”

“I know. Maybe after this we can convince Sheppard to be more honest about his symptoms following injuries.” 

Carson snorted derisively. “Right. Let me know when those Athosian pigs start flying, too.”

“No, I mean it.” A crafty look appeared on the surgeon’s face as he changed the subject abruptly. “Despite all his complaints on the planet, did you ever find anything actually wrong with Dr. Kavanagh?”

Beckett rolled his eyes. “That hypochondriac? He might have a couple of minor abrasions, but that’s it. He doesn’t even have ligamentous damage, much less anything actually broken. I’ve got him cooling his heels in the infirmary until I’m good and ready to release him. He’s raising the roof about it, too. Keeps claiming I've missed something.” Carson's eyes widened, "You don't think…"

Derek snorted, "No, I don't. But he does. What if we kept him for 24 hour observation, 'just to be safe', since he is so certain that he is gravely injured?”

“Why in heaven’s name would I want to do that?” Beckett blurted aghast.

“How do he and Major Sheppard get along?”

“Like oil and water.” The light bulb suddenly went on. “Side-by-side hospital beds…”

“Dr. Kavanagh might think twice next time about questioning your medical judgement.”

“And it will demonstrate the advantages of bedrest in his quarters over emergency surgery to Major Sheppard!” A smile lit the Chief Medical Officer’s face for the first time in hours. “Doctor Lawrence, I like the way you think.”

\-----------------------------------

Sheppard heard the hushed murmurs before anything else impinged on his consciousness. ‘What’s going on?’ he wondered. ‘Why is everyone talking over me?’

“Major? Are you awake?” He recognized Weir’s concerned tones and struggled to open his eyes.

“Yeah,” he rasped hoarsely, “Sort of…”

After a Herculean effort he managed to crack open one eye, then the other. Around his bed stood a motley assortment of exhausted teammates, all of whom broke into smiles and cheering as they heard him speak. Weir calmed them with a whispered, “Ssshhhh,” the turned back to John. “You had us worried there for a bit,” she said with a smile. “Glad to have you back.” She squeezed his hand so quickly that he was unsure whether or not he had imagined it, then stepped back so the others could greet him.

“Hey, sir. We missed you.” Ford managed to put a world of feeling into those few words.

“Yes, very much,” concurred Teyla solemnly.

“Well, you know, we need you up and healthy….to switch on the gadgets…and things,” concluded McKay awkwardly.

“Gadgets…”

“And things, yes.” By golly, it might sound lame, but Rodney was sticking to it.

Sheppard nodded. “Wouldn’t want to miss that.” He started coughing and suddenly became aware of the fire in his abdominal wall. “What the…?” he began, as Beckett moved in with a pillow. Sheppard gratefully held it against his incision until the coughing bout was over, then fixed the doctor with a stare. “What happened?”

“Your spleen ruptured, probably secondary to injuries sustained in that encounter with the Wraith.” Beckett snapped. “You’re just lucky Zelenka had the good sense to call for help immediately.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” Beckett was beside himself. “All you have to say is ‘Oh’?” Teyla, Ford and McKay exchanged uneasy looks; this was about to get ugly. In the six hours or so after the successful completion of the surgery, they had each heard ‘The Tirade’ at least twice, and it had become more vehement, not to mention louder, each time. On an unspoken signal the three edged out of the room, abandoning Sheppard to Beckett’s tender mercies. They figured that, as commander, Weir could fend for herself.

Sheppard shrugged. “Well, that was one mean Wraith.”

“John, you could have died.” Weir quietly commented as Beckett spluttered.

His eyes narrowed and his brow creased in concentration as he looked between the two of them. “Clearly I’m missing the point…”

Beckett regained vocal capacity. “Major, do you remember the examination a few days ago?”

“Sure.”

“And what happened at the end?”

“Ummm…you wanted to run some type of scan.”

“And what did you promise to do if I let you out of it?”

Sheppard was unclear as to where this was going, but decided to play along. “That I would come back if I got worse.”

Beckett threw up his hands in frustration. “Major, it doesn’t get much ‘worse’ than a ruptured spleen!”

“Oh.”

“Again with the ‘oh’. I know your vocabulary is better than that.” He rolled his eyes imploringly at Elizabeth, but she just smiled and nodded for him to continue.

Turning back to Dr. Lawrence’s patient, he tried a new tact, “Didn’t your stomach hurt?”

“Well, sure.”

“Was it hurting when you came to see me?”

“No, not at all.”

“Major, that was exactly the type of ‘problem’ I was referring to. Pain occurring where there hadn’t been pain before.” Beckett collapsed into the chair next to the bedside. “Oh, what’s the bloody use? You’ll just go right on ignoring common sense and doctor’s orders the minute you get out of here.”

Sheppard was surprised. “That was my spleen? I thought…I thought I’d eaten something I shouldn’t have or had some kind of virus.” Realization dawned, along with a degree of guilt. “That scan I begged out of…”

“Might very well have shown that you had an injury, yes. If we had known about it sooner, we could have prevented surgery by placing you on light duty.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“Well, now that you do, I expect you to listen to your treating physician next time.” Weir’s tone made it clear that this was not a request. She touched the back of his hand lightly. “Now, try to get some rest. We need you back.” So saying, she left.

John closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the pillow. They flicked open again, however, as he felt the blood pressure cuff inflate. He fixed Beckett with his most apologetic puppy-dog stare. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t think…”

Beckett smiled wanly. “You never do, Major, you never do.”

Sheppard relaxed and allowed his eyes to sleepily slide shut, only to pop awake again at the sound of a whiney, “Hey, how does somebody get some service around here?” Carefully turning his head towards the voice, he groaned. 

He hid his dismay as he asked the occupant of the adjacent bed, “Hey, Kavanagh, what are you doing here?”

The pony-tailed scientist petulantly crossed his arms over his too-short hospital gown. “That quack won’t let me leave,” he replied.

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk to your attending physician.” Sheppard was certain that he could discern an undertone of amusement in Beckett’s reply.

Turning his attention back to the doctor, he questioned curiously, “So, what’s wrong with him?”

“He fell on our little exercise and injured his leg. Despite assuring him that nothing was seriously wrong, he insisted that he knew better, so we brought him back to Atlantis.” Beckett conveniently left out the part about being captured by the ‘Wraith’. “Now, I’m an intelligent man - I can learn from my mistakes. As my examination of you missed the splenic injury, it’s possible that I’m missing a similarly serious injury to the good doctor’s leg. Therefore, I opted to keep him under observation for 24 hours.”

Beckett’s face broke into a grin as he patted Sheppard on the shoulder and said, sotto voce, “This way, maybe you both learn a lesson. If not, then next time it’ll be worse.”

Sheppard closed his eyes once more and groaned. “You’re heartless,” he murmured.

The doctor’s grin got wider. “Just look at it as my form of a ‘survival course’,” he responded.

Listening to Kavanagh drone on about the injustices of life on Atlantis, Sheppard murmured, “I think your version is tougher than mine.” As he finally succumbed to the urge to sleep, he could swear he heard Beckett chuckle.

The End


End file.
